


Lessons in Arithmetic

by emansil



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-04-20
Updated: 2013-04-20
Packaged: 2017-12-08 23:51:35
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,986
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/767537
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/emansil/pseuds/emansil
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Life, Ron has discovered is series of lessons in arithmetic, all leading hopefully to that perfectly balanced equation: adding and multiplying bring people into our lives, while subtraction and division takes those we love away. Of late there had been more subtractions and divisions. Could the sum of his life be balanced by the addition of a certain blond ex Death Eater?</p>
            </blockquote>





	Lessons in Arithmetic

**Author's Note:**

> First a huge thank you to my beta K, whom I could not do half of what I do w/o your assistance. And to dear wwmrsweasleydo, I was so excited to see this prompt and know I was going to be able to write for you, one of the best people in all of fandom. The story may not have gone as far as you requested, but I felt they simply needed to be introduced to the idea. They’ll take care of the rest on their own. I do hope it brings a smile to your face.
> 
> Disclaimer: Harry Potter characters are the property of J.K. Rowling and Bloomsbury/Scholastic. No profit is being made, and no copyright infringement is intended.

Lessons in Arithmetic

“I’m surprised you’re not falling over. I didn’t think a three legged stool could stand alone with only one leg,” drawled a recognizable but unwanted voice from above Ron’s head.

 _That made no sense at all,_ Ron thought. He was sitting on a chair with four legs; not a stool, no matter how many legs it had. Obviously the git speaking was mental.

The voice was a bit to rear of him as well as above him. Not only did he have to look up, he also had to lean backward and look up at the same time; a task Ron was in no condition to conquer. This caused the chair he was sitting on to wobble, just a bit, but enough that the sensation of falling startled him. Apparently it also affected the person who had spoken. To Ron’s surprise, Draco Malfoy reached out and steadied both the wobbly chair and its occupant. 

“Malfoy. Leave off,” Ron muttered.

“Don’t want to. Besides, you’d have fallen on your arse if I’d not been here to steady you.” 

“You wouldn’t have needed to if you hadn’t disturbed me in the first place.” 

Malfoy shrugged and his posture wavered a bit and Ron felt him lean heavily on the back of the chair. It was then he realized Malfoy was none too sober himself.

_That’s right,_ Ron thought. Malfoy had taken to frequenting the bars, clubs and pubs as much as he had. And like Ron, he seemed to be alone more often than not.

Oh, at first Ron had had plenty of drinking mates. Everyone was celebrating the end of the war, but as time passed, Ron’s reasons for drinking became more a matter of forgetting than of celebrating. The others returned to their lives. Ron felt he had little life to return to.

Everyone else seemed to be able to move on. Harry and Hermione had been the last to go. Harry as his best mate and Hermione as the woman who loved him had finally had to tell him. They couldn’t continue to support his behaviour. They loved and cared for him, but they would not watch him drink himself into oblivion. It was, however, the only thing Ron wanted to do.

They had tried, he knew, and he had tried too. Couldn’t they understand? How could they and everyone else just forget? How could they act like everything was the same, when nothing was the same?

Everything had changed.

His thoughts must have taken longer than he realized. Malfoy continued to stand there looking at him, a sour expression on his face. “Careful there, Weasel, you might burst some kind of brain vessel if you continue to think that hard.”

“Fuck off, Malfoy.”

“Nope. I think I’ll have a sit down.” Ron watched as Malfoy very slowly and methodically pulled the chair away from the table, turned it around and holding on the table sat very carefully down. When he’d accomplished this he let out a sigh and turned, somehow managing to both grin and sneer at Ron at the same time.

Ron glared. If he didn’t want his friends around him anymore, why in the name of all that was sacred would he want Malfoy? 

“I’d really like to be alone. If you don’t mind,” he said. Why he’d included that last part, he had no idea. Frankly, he didn’t give a crup’s arse if Malfoy minded or not.

Draco snorted. “Well, looks to me like you’re plenty alone. Have been for most of tonight, and last night, and three nights ago, not to mention the multiple times I’ve seen you in here alone over the last months.”

“What— Are you spying on me? Besides, I haven’t seen friends and companions overflowing around you either.”

“And you won’t. They’ve all abandoned me. Say I’ve become a bit too 'morose' for their tastes.” His air quotation marks were on the overly enthusiastic side; he wavered grabbing Ron’s arm to steady himself. “Well, here’s what I have to say to them.” 

He lifted his hand in a two-fingered salute. Ron would never have figured Malfoy to know the Muggle sign for “fuck off,” but he guessed it was probably a pretty universal symbol. Kind of like the road signs they saw in Egypt when they all went there for a holiday. There were these pictures on the all the signs on the road that everyone seemed to understand and obey.

He didn’t want to think about that holiday. Fred had still been with them, and Bill was still young and handsome, with no scars to mar him. Percy had been with Penelope, not Hermione, and their mum was still Mum, not the sullen and discouraged woman she had become. She pretended. They all did, but Ron had seen the dull and vacant look in her eyes more often than not.

While Ron was pondering the unfairness of his life Malfoy did the completely unexpected and unpardonable. He reached across Ron, took his still half full glass off the table and downed it. In one shot. Placing the glass back on the table, he turned his back to Ron.

“Oi! What the fuck? Are you mad or just suicidal? That was mine!”

Malfoy made no reply and continued to studiously ignore him. 

Malfoy, bloody pointy-nosed Death Eater Malfoy. He and his family and those like him were the ones responsible for Ron’s problems.

“Not all of them.” To Ron's dismay, he heard Hermione’s voice in his head. 

Well, fuck Hermione, she wasn’t here. She had left him. And if Malfoy wasn’t directly responsible for Fred’s death, he was fully to blame for the scarring of his brother’s Bill’s handsome face.

Ron lurched to his feet, intent on slugging the pompous git. Then thought better of it, deciding another drink would be a more appropriate response. His family would be so proud of him for taking the high road here. Not that they would ever know.

Returning to the table, drink in hand, he noticed Malfoy was still there. Ron placed the glass on the table. He really needed to piss. “Don’t touch that,” he growled at Malfoy. “I’ll be right back.”

Sod the bastard. The glass was empty when he got back from the loo. This time there was no higher ground to be found anywhere in him. He’d needed that drink. But before he could complete the swing, he found his arms were frozen in place.

“Hold on, Weasley. I was just going to get you another. I know your family still can’t afford for you to be buying drinks for others. I’m surprised you can afford your own.”

He knew he should be angry at the insult. Truthfully though, right now, he just wanted another drink, he didn’t care who it came from. He’d happily allow even Malfoy to buy it for him. 

Malfoy walks like there's an ice pole stuck up his arse, Ron thought as Malfoy, ramrod stiff, walked to the bar. Hermione would simply have said he had excellent posture.

Ron snorted at the thought. That, of course, would have been proceeded by, “Ronald, honestly.” He wondered how often Percy heard, “Percival, honestly.” Since their break up six months ago Ron sometimes wondered if he missed her. If he was honest, he usually found he did not. Well, he missed her presence but not their relationship. Except for when he grew hurt that she had moved on so easily. 

Ron reached out to grab the table as his chair was suddenly knocked aside. There was a muffled apology and Malfoy sat back down. He placed one glass in front of Ron and the other in front of himself. 

“Cheers,” he said, and took a long lingering gulp of his drink, his head tossed back. Ron watched his Adam’s apple working as Malfoy completed his swallowing. It was somewhat mesmerizing.

For the next hour the two of them sat together, insults and snide comments flowing in an irregular pattern mixed with long periods of silence. How they managed not to hex each other was a miracle in Ron’s eyes. Maybe neither of them could be bothered to care. 

Malfoy kept buying them drinks, which was okay with Ron. What if he was a bit late in paying off his tab? He was good for it; he just forgot to pay it. The proprietor had informed him no more free drinks until he paid what he owed. Apparently, Malfoy’s bill was paid in full. 

“So who’s your sister, the Weaselette, fucking these days? I hear Potter finally gave her the heave ho.” He stopped talking and started laughing. “Haha, haha, Ho! Get it, the Ho?” 

Ron saw nothing funny or even the least bit humorous in that. So what if his sister had been out with more than a few blokes since her break up with Harry? She was still young. No one, especially Malfoy, had the right to speak of her that way. 

The War had damaged her as well. Truthfully, she had not been the same since that bloody diary. And that was all due to the father of the obnoxious bloke sitting next to him. The liquor that had been forming a pleasant buzz in his brain suddenly turned poisonous. Anger rushed through him. Everything wrong in his life was due directly or indirectly to Malfoy. 

“Shut the fuck up about my sister. Shut the fuck up about Harry and Hermione. Shut the fuck up about my family in any way. Just shut the fuck up. Full stop.” He surged to his feet and his arm shot out and his fist connected with Malfoy’s pointy chin.

He’d not realized how much slugging someone with your fist hurt. “Ouch, bollocks that hurt,” he muttered. The sharp pain brought more anger.

“You’re a bloody coward. You sat safe and cosy in your father’s manor while others were out fighting, getting themselves hurt and wounded, even killed! So you just shut it.” Ron continued his ranting, seeing but not understanding the look that came over Malfoy’s face.

Without warning Ron found himself pushed against his chair, his face full of Malfoy. Malfoy stood over him, his face white and livid with fury. 

Paralyzed with confusion and fear, not to mention the excessive amounts of alcohol he’d consumed, Ron watched as Malfoy’s fist drew back and connected with his chin. The pain was instant, yet it had felt as if he’d been watching it happen in slow motion.

Then the pain became unbearable, as Malfoy continued hitting him, over and over. Falling to the floor, Malfoy following him down, Ron could only curl up into a small ball. His arms covering his face as he tried to protect himself from the raging inferno that was Malfoy. He couldn’t respond and he couldn’t fight back. Malfoy was like an animal that was out of control. He just kept hitting Ron.

The pub was full of shouts and screams as the other patrons scrambled to get out of the way. But somehow through all the noise and confusion and the pain was the sound of someone crying and repeating over and over, “You just don’t know. You’ve no idea. No one understands how hard it was.” And, “I’m sorry, I’m so sorry. I just want this to stop.” 

Then, with the speed of a light being switched, silence filled the pub. Loud voices overcame the stillness as Ron heard, “Okay everyone, back away.” He recognized the voice of Lavender Brown, the newest Auror recruit. Her voice was strong and sure. Obviously she’d overcome her timidity.

_“Stupefy.”_ That voice belonged to Flint, a more senior and experienced member of the team. It was interesting they should be working together, Ron thought through his pain. 

_“Expelliarmus,”_ was followed by, _“Mobilicorpus,”_ and Ron was heaved to his feet as was Malfoy. An _“Incarcerous"_ tied their hands behind their back, ensuring they could inflict no more damage. 

Malfoy actually looked worse than Ron felt. Oh, he had no bruises and blood wasn’t running down his face as it was Ron’s. Although it did appear that there would be a fairly colourful bruise on Malfoy’s chin. Ron was pretty sure he was going to need a healer to reset his broken nose, while Malfoy’s remained as perfectly patrician as always. But Malfoy looked… devastated. That was the only word Ron could think of to describe what he was seeing on Malfoy’s face.

He looked as though he’d completely given up on life. Every drop of anger had left him. Ron had never seen anyone look so completely devoid of anything. Not even Harry had looked that empty, even when he’d learned he was a Horcrux and was going to have to make that long walk into the forest in order for Voldemort to be destroyed.

It unnerved Ron and made him feel just the slightest sliver of compassion and understanding for Malfoy – a feeling he could not begin to comprehend.

~§~

“Weasley.” Malfoy called. They’d been in the holding cell for about an hour. Their wands had been confiscated, of course. Ron had been seen by a Mediwizard, the blood cleaned up and his nose set. Malfoy’s chin had been attended to as well. The bruising would be minimal after all. They had been given a sobering potion. Ron felt— well, he didn’t know how he felt.

The potion had sobered him, but had done nothing to alleviate the hangover that came with sobering. His head was pounding and his stomach churned, like it was making old –fashioned Muggle ice cream. That had been another of his dad’s Muggle contraptions that Hermione— or had it been Harry? — had had to show them how to work.

That had been just a few weeks after the Deatheaters had entered Hogwarts, the night Dumbledore died and Bill had been scarred for life trying to save and protect others. The family had needed the distraction and the physical energy it took to operate the crank. Their dad had stated emphatically it should be done the Muggle way. Ron had snorted to himself, thinking, Wow, could he get off track.

“Weasley? Are you alive over there?” 

Ron shrugged. What could he say? What could he possibly say that wouldn't end in another fight? He didn’t want to fight. He just wanted to be left alone. Alone to think of what he’d lost.

“Ron.”

Ron started. Malfoy had never called him Ron before, but then again, Ron had never thought of Malfoy as anything other than Malfoy. Certainly not Draco, that was, until now. Somehow thinking of him as Draco was not as horrendous as he’d once have thought. He must have made some sound of acknowledgment as Draco continued talking.

“I’m sorry.” 

And with those two words the floodgates were opened. 

“What the fuck was that? I’m not sure, but I think you tried to kill me,” Ron blurted. He turned around to see Malfoy’s reaction to his accusations.

In the dimness of the cell he could see a minuscule shrug. “I probably would have if they hadn’t stopped me. I wouldn’t have wanted to. I didn’t want to, but I probably would have.”

“I don’t understand. Why would you…” Ron broke off, not sure what to say. Malfoy looked even more despondent than he had before.

“I’ve a bit of an anger problem.” 

“I’d say that’s an understatement. I hope you’re seeking help for it. A mind healer, perhaps.”

“I am. I’m seeing someone three or four days a week. I used to have daily sessions. We thought I was getting better. Handling the stress, being less of a threat.”

“You mean you’ve done this before?” Ron asked incredulously. “Why haven’t I heard about this?”

“It’s been mostly Muggles. The few wizards I’ve attacked were in other countries. Our solicitors have made them monetary offers that have been difficult to refuse. I’m required to take an anti-anger potion before I go out in Britain’s Wizarding society. Usually.”

Ron was trying to get his head around the fact that Malfoy had been beating the crap out of Muggles for no apparent reason. Which, considering his past, wasn’t really all that surprising. Then he realised the last word Malfoy had said.

“What happened this time?”

“I didn’t take it.”

“Well that was pretty obvious. Why not?”

“I was spoiling for a fight. And you gave me one.”

“But, we’d been insulting each other all night. Why did you suddenly go off?”

“You called me a coward.”

“Yeah. So. You are.”

The flare of madness that surged in Malfoy’s eyes was terrifying. Ron gulped and got ready to scream for help. But as he watched, Malfoy got himself under control.

“You’ve no idea what you’re talking about. You don’t know what I, what we, my family lived through. The fear, the terror of living with ,i>him every day, never knowing what form his madness would take. What you’d be required to do and what punishments he’d inflict if you didn’t. Or, even, if you did, fear that it wouldn’t be to his satisfaction.”

Malfoy stopped talking and scrubbed his hands across his face. Ron could see he had more to say, so he remained silent.

“My mother suffers from agonizing chronic pain from torture she suffered trying to protect me. Any time it rains, the pain I have from the multiple Cruciatus spells is so great I have to take a pain-killing potion. Luckily for both of us, Snape left both the instructions as well as where to find the ingredients in the room he used at the manor.”

“You could have made different choices. Harry told us what Dumbledore offered you.”

Malfoy’s snort of derision was bereft of any sense of humour. “Could I have? It was already a bit late for that. I knew the Death Eaters would be in the castle soon. Once I’d realised exactly what I had done, I knew my life was over when that occurred. I might continue breathing, but there was no future to look forward to. I would be nothing but a walking, talking shell of myself." 

“Why did you let them in? What had Hogwarts or Professor Dumbledore ever done to deserve that? He’d only ever treated you with more respect than you deserved.” Ron’s anger at what had happened that night began once again to build inside him. 

Draco surged to his feet, his face again a mask of rage “Don’t you understand? I had to! I had no choice! He had my family. He was going to kill them!” And then as suddenly as the anger had come, it seemed to flee. Draco collapsed back onto one of the hard wooden benches that lined the perimeter of the cell. His head dropped into his hands and he whispered, “And me. He was going to kill me.”

“Harry…” Ron started and then fell silent as Draco said in a muted voice, “I’m not Potter.”

Ron knew that. Neither was he.

“What would you have done?” he heard Malfoy whisper. “You’re one of those big brave Gryffindors. What would you have done if it had been you, if he had your family? If the only way you could save them was to murder someone? Someone who had never harmed you, but because of your past and your family’s beliefs you’d never had any respect for. Could you have killed Goyle to save your sister, or your brother, or any member of your family?”

Ron felt the blood drain from his face. Could he have? Would he have been willing to split his soul, to have it ripped from him, to save his family? To murder another in cold blood, with no justification other than his love for them? There was no answer to that.

“That’s what I thought.”

Neither of them spoke for a few minutes, each lost in their own thoughts.

“What was it like?” Ron said at last. “You know, with him living in your house. I mean, Harry could see some things. He had this strange connection with Voldemort; he could see certain things.”

Draco cringed at the sound of the name in the same way Ron had in his early years with Harry. Ron no longer feared the name; he had only anger and disgust.

“How do you think it was? It was horrible. Worse than you can ever begin to imagine. To have to watch and participate in the horrors that he committed. To know there was no way out. Nothing short of death or Potter would save us. And I was not yet ready to die.”

“Harry?” Ron asked, perplexed at what Malfoy had just said. 

“Why do you think I pretended not to recognize him? I knew it was him. With you and Granger there, who else could it be? I also knew he was our only hope. I’d hoped that Dobby would be able to find him and to save him and the others from the dungeons. I’m only sorry Hermione had to suffer like she did. And Dobby, I’m very sorry about Dobby. He’d treated me well when I was a child.”

“You could have tried to stop it. The torture, I mean.”

“How? Bellatrix and the others would have known not to trust me. Somehow I think that would have made it even worse.”

Malfoy leaned his head back against the stone wall, placing himself even more in the shadows, and closed his eyes. Only his hair and the paleness of his eyelashes resting against his cheekbones were truly visible. Ron watched and waited for a moment to see if Draco had anything else to say. When Draco kept silent, Ron followed suit, closing his eyes against the memories. 

He was almost asleep when Malfoy spoke. 

“Do you ever think about what House you would have liked to be sorted into? If you’d been given a chance, I mean?”

“No. But Harry did. Or at least he said he did.”

“What? Potter asked to be put in Gryffindor?”

“No. I think it was more he asked to not be put in Slytherin.”

Malfoy made a noise of indignation and then began to laugh. A real and honest laugh. Ron didn’t think the he had ever heard him laugh like that. He liked it. 

“Can you imagine? Potter and me in the same house, with Professor Snape as our Head of House. Merlin, it doesn’t bear thinking about.”

Sobering quickly, he then said, “How could Potter have ever killed the Dark Lord if he was in Slytherin? Maybe the barmy hat did know what it was doing. But you never answered my question. What house would you have wanted to be in, if every Weasley known to wizard kind hadn't been sorted into Gryffindor since time immemorial?”

Ron shrugged. “Dunno. Never thought I was clever enough for Ravenclaw, and Hufflepuff just seemed a bit…”

“Hufflepufferish?” Draco supplied with a smile. “Besides, from what I hear you’re plenty clever. Just maybe not book smart, at least not Granger book smart. I understand you play a mean game of Wizard’s Chess. You could have probably been a success in Slytherin. Who knows?”

“Oi! I don’t think so. What about you? Any chance you’d have asked to be put somewhere else other than Slytherin?”

“Malfoys have always been…”

“Yeah, I know. Malfoys have always been in Slytherin and Weasleys have always been in Gryffindor. You’re the one who started this; you need to play it fair and square. Answer the question.” 

Ron was not at all surprised to hear Malfoy say he’d have very much liked to have been in Ravenclaw. Somehow he’d known that.

~§~

Over the few remaining hours until morning, the two of them talked. They laughed and told jokes and tales of their friends and on themselves, sharing embarrassing stories they had hoped no one would ever know about. Well, at least that was Ron’s experience, and from the way Malfoy had sometimes held his head down and cringed, he couldn’t help but think he was probably having the same experience.

Heartbroken over the parts of the past they could never get back, they shared their sorrows and regrets. Ron told Draco about leaving Harry and Hermione on the Horcrux hunt. Draco passed no judgment on him, only sharing how he had watched a Hogwarts professor be consumed by Nagini and could do nothing to stop it. Draco told Ron how his father, the once proud and elegant Lucius Malfoy, had not shaved or trimmed his beard since he entered Azkaban, and how once a week they had to force him to shower and shampoo. Lucius had simply no longer cared. Draco's pain and humiliation at this change in his father was obvious. Ron wanted nothing more than to offer him solace. 

He’d not felt so comfortable and at ease with another since Harry and Hermione. Somehow Ron felt Draco was a bit like both of them, blended into one person. He could be a friend like Harry. Perhaps like Hermione, Draco could be more than just a friend, as well. 

As the first rays of early sun began to shine in the small windows that lined the upper few inches of the cell, Ron felt Draco’s eyes on him. He turned to look.

“They’ll be coming to let us out soon. I would imagine.”

“It’ll be a few hours yet. They’ve got to process us through the proper channels,” Ron said. 

Draco stood and walked over to him, a look on his face Ron didn’t understand. Well, it was a recognizable look, but Ron wasn’t sure he was reading it correctly. He swallowed and tried to look away, but found he could not.

“Have you ever kissed a man?” Draco asked.

Ron wanted to think he should be shocked by this question. But based on the look he’d seen on Draco’s face and by the way his own heart was pounding just thinking about it, honestly he couldn’t. He shook his head in negation.

“Would you like to?” whispered Draco kneeling down in front of Ron. 

Ron nodded. He didn’t know if he wanted to kiss just any man. But he did want to kiss Draco Malfoy. He wanted it more than he’d ever wanted to kiss anyone, since he'd kissed Lavender Brown in sixth year, but that had been more teenage hormones speaking. This was different. He wanted to kiss Draco, no one else.

Wiping his sweaty palms against the top of his thighs Ron swallowed and waited as Draco placing his fingertips on the bench along each side of Ron leaned forward. Ron moved as well. Their lips met. It was brilliantly wicked or wickedly brilliant, Ron didn’t know. Either way it was perfect. Kissing Hermione had never been like this. Draco’s lips were soft and tender; moist yet slightly chapped as well. The kiss was pliant and yielding, but an undercurrent of strength and dominance hovered just under the surface. 

They broke apart. Draco rose from his knees and sat beside him on the bench. 

“I’d like to do that again sometime, but not here and not now. I’d like to do that and more. I think perhaps you’re going to be too important to me to take things too fast." 

The feeling of Draco’s lips on his, lingering on his tongue and in his mind, Ron could only nod. He felt the same. In the course of one night, one night of openness and honesty, he might just have found the one person who could possibly understand him, could understand the reasons behind his behaviour.

Draco leaned his head against Ron’s shoulder. Ron lifted his arm and drew it around him. Draco tucked his head into the crook of Ron’s shoulder. Tightening his arm over the slender man, Ron felt at peace. 

He was almost asleep when Draco said, “The others aren’t going to understand or approve.”

“When has either of us ever cared about what others thought?” Ron asked.

“Too true. We’ll probably fight a lot."

“That’s what we do. The making up should be a bit of all right, though.”

“That's what I understand. I’ve never had the pleasure of that experience myself. You’ll probably want to listen to the Cannons on the wireless and stuff your mouth with cottage pie and butterbeer, won’t you?” 

“And you’ll want to go to posh restaurants that’ll require me to buy new dress robes.” 

“This isn’t going to be easy you know. We’ve a lot of history to get through.”

“Nothing worth doing ever is. Harry and Hermione both taught me that. But I do have an extra Cannons shirt that you can borrow when we listen to the games together. That should be a good start.” 

“We’ll see. Although, I do think I’d like that to be the last mention of either Potter or Granger for the next, I don’t know, forever.” 

Ron heard the huff of irritation in Draco’s voice and laughed softly. 

They were both sound asleep, curled up in each other, when the outer door to the holding cell clanged open. Separating and then standing they straightened their clothing as best they could and waited for the Aurors to come and release them. 

Ron left the cell feeling more at peace than he had in a long time, longer than he could remember. Draco’s face and smile told him he was sharing the same feeling. 

“I’ll be seeing you,” Ron said once they’d retrieved their wands, received the warning on the evils of alcohol and responsible adult Wizard behaviour, and been released into the bright day. He turned to walk away.

Draco grabbed his arm stopping him, shook his head at him. “Your place or mine?” 

With a smile that made his face hurt, Ron replied, “Mine.” 

Taking Draco’s hand in his, he Apparated them away.

The End


End file.
